


De Nile

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Denial, Enhanced Senses, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt hates listening to Foggy's heartbeat. </p><p>Denial ain't just a river in Egypt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	De Nile

Matt hates listening to Foggy’s heartbeat, the day they meet.

 

Foggy’s heartbeat is healthy and strong, so it comes through loud and clear in Matt’s senses. It’s not a bad heartbeat, it’s just…

 

It’s too fast.

 

“H-Hi. You must be my roommate. Um, nice to meet you.” Foggy stutters a bit on the words, and Matt hears the tiny hitch in his breath before he speaks, a shaky inhale like he’s gathering his courage.

 

Matt’s heard this all before. In fact, he’s already heard it more than once today. Matt hasn’t seen his reflection in years, but apparently he grew into his gawky frame and goofy smile. People have a tendency to swallow a lot around him, sweat a little bit, and fumble their words. Their heartbeats race like rabbits.

 

Foggy Nelson appears to be no exception.

 

And Matt kind of wants to run, because having a roommate who is attracted to you doesn’t seem like the best idea. Matt’s sure Foggy wouldn’t assault him or anything, he can tell that as soon as he hears Foggy speak—warm and a little nervous and kind—but that doesn’t mean it won’t be awkward. Foggy might be the clingy kind of crush, the kind that constantly wants you to pay attention to them and gets jealous when you talk to other people. He might be the clumsy kind of crush that stutters around Matt all the time and trip over things (like Matt) when he's anxious. He might be the lusty kind of crush aroused easily, and he’ll be sleeping in the same room and having explicit dreams about Matt and Matt will have to _hear_ them.

 

It’s a horrible idea, really, but Foggy _does_ sound warm and kind, and Matt thinks he might be able to give it a try just for a little while. If it gets too awkward, he can just bow out and say something vague about how it’s easier for him to have his own room because of… blind things. ‘Blind things’ tends to throw people off, make them uncomfortable and get them to stop asking questions.

 

“Yes, that’s me. Nice to meet you too.” Matt makes the fatal mistake of smiling and actually meaning it, and he hears Foggy’s heartbeat skip and then speed up even _more._ Matt’s a little worried Foggy’s going to have a heart attack, which would not be an auspicious first meeting.

 

And Matt doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to know. If he didn’t hear Foggy’s heartbeat, he probably wouldn’t guess that Foggy was attracted to him—Foggy stutters a little, but that could just be because he’s anxious about meeting his new roommate and making a good impression. Other than the anxiety, he just sounds friendly. Matt would hear that, and he would be able to smile and say hi and not worry about inconvenient attraction.

 

But he hears Foggy’s heartbeat, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Matt is incredibly glad he took a chance on Foggy as a roommate. Matt sort of adores him.

 

Foggy’s sweet and smart and he’s a good friend. He doesn’t care that Matt’s blind, doesn’t hesitate and tiptoe around him. He leads Matt when Matt asks him, and he tells funny stories about what people look like, but otherwise he doesn’t act any differently than he would with anyone else. Foggy gives Matt Braille books for his birthday, all the novels and poems Matt loves, the ones that he mentioned absently once or twice and Foggy _remembered._ Foggy’s the best friend Matt’s ever had.

 

Foggy is still attracted to him. A lot.

 

His heartbeat goes crazy when Matt comes into their room, sweaty and breathless from going to the gym. It races when Matt takes his arm for Foggy to lead him. It skips a beat when Matt forgets to bring a shirt to the shower and has to duck back into the room and grab one.

 

Matt thinks it might actually stop when Matt comes back after class and he hears the squeak of the bedsprings when Foggy sits up, and Foggy smells like sex but just like himself, no one else, and it’s thick in the air and Matt _heard_ Foggy saying his name, Matt thought he was just welcoming Matt back instead of oh, god.

 

Matt babbles something from the hallway about going somewhere for something and gets the hell out of there. Foggy is extremely embarrassed when Matt finally comes back, but Matt refuses to even acknowledge it happened. Foggy believes him (because Foggy always believes him, even when Matt''s lying). He thinks Matt didn't catch him, didn't almost walk in, didn't hear Foggy moaning his name so desperately. Matt never tells him differently. Foggy believes he got away with it that one time, but after that he's careful. Matt never catches him at it again. He is eternally grateful for Foggy’s discretion.

 

And Matt tries everything after that day. He tries _everything_ he can think of to make Foggy stop being attracted to him. He chews with his mouth open, and he leaves his dirty clothes on Foggy’s side of the room, and he hums loudly when he knows that Foggy’s trying to study. Foggy tells him fondly to close his mouth before his food gets a chance to escape. Foggy picks up Matt’s dirty clothes and hides them until Matt apologizes. Foggy hums along with Matt and doesn’t seem distracted from his studies at all—actually, he says it helps him think.

 

Through it all, Foggy acts incredibly smitten. It’s infuriating. 

 

Matt’s thrilled when Foggy meets Marci. Foggy sounds dazed and a little terrified when he tells Matt about her.

 

“I don’t even know. She’s like a wildcat, and I’m a tasty rabbit that she’s decided to play with. It’s just… wow.” He asks Matt if he should see her again, and Matt tries not to sound too eager when he says yes, absolutely, Foggy should give her a chance and sees where it leads.

 

He regrets this pep talk greatly when he actually _meets_ Marci. Foggy wasn’t kidding when he’d mentioned how terrifying she was. Marci moves almost entirely silently even to Matt’s ears, like a prowling cat. She purrs almost everything she says to Foggy, and Matt hears the sound of her manicured nails as she runs her fingers through Foggy’s hair again and again. Marci has an annoying tendency to show up just when Foggy’s laughing at one of Matt’s jokes, and then pull Foggy away with whispered promises.

 

Matt hears every single promise she whispers into Foggy’s ear, and he doesn’t like any of them. They’re always carnal things about Foggy’s body and what he can do with it. She never tells Foggy how proud she is that he won his latest debate with the cleverest twist of logic. She never mentions Foggy’s dry sense of humor, the way he always has a little quip or joke to lighten the mood and get you thinking.

 

She never whispers about Foggy’s warm hands, or his cute laugh, or his sweet-smelling raspberry shampoo.

 

He wonders if Marci can tell that Matt doesn’t like her. For his part, Matt realizes pretty quickly that Marci doesn’t like him either.

 

“Come on, Murdock won’t be back for hours.” Marci murmurs, and Matt hears the sound of clothing pulling against skin. Marci, judging from the silky rustle of the material—shirt, Matt thinks vaguely. Taking off her shirt.

 

Matt is supposed to be back _now_ , actually. His class was cancelled, and Marci knows that because hers was cancelled too. Foggy _doesn’t_ know that, thinks that Matt’s well out the way for at least two hours. Marci knows, and she’s doing this anyway. Does she want him to walk in? Matt wonders for a moment, furious, if she wants to embarrass Foggy. Then he hears the little sigh she gives, and he knows that she very much wants to be here. That part’s not a lie. She might want Matt to walk in, but if she does it’s because she wants _Matt_ to be embarrassed, not Foggy.

 

Marci’s smart, so she’s almost certainly noticed the way Foggy acts around Matt. She must know that it won’t come to anything, that Matt doesn’t return the feelings, but that doesn’t mean she’s not jealous. Marci’s possessive, like Foggy’s her favorite toy and she doesn’t want to share. Even if Matt’s not interested in Foggy that way, they still spend a lot of time together and Marci does _not_ like that.

 

So, this is staking her claim. Matt _hates_ it. Foggy's _not_ a toy, and even if he was he wouldn't be  _Marci's._

 

“I don’t know.” Foggy’s saying, and he sounds breathless too. “I mean, what happens if Matt—“

 

“I really don’t think you should be thinking about him right now, Foggy Bear.” Marci purrs, and Matt hears the wet smack of a particularly long kiss. “Come on, it’s all about you and me now. You do want me, don’t you?” She’s probably batting her eyelashes, Matt thinks with slight disgust. Laying it on entirely too thick, definitely.

 

“Of course I do.” Foggy assures her, and he sounds earnest and ardent. “Every second, I just don’t know if—oh!” He yelps, and Matt hears another rustle of clothing, rougher—Foggy’s pants, and the sound is quick, like Marci’s ripping them off.

 

“Come on, babe.” Marci murmurs. “Fast and hard, okay? It’ll be fine.”

 

Foggy yelps at something she’s doing.

 

“Well, I guess a quick one might—oh, wow. Okay. Just—“ He makes a little sound and Matt hears the bedsprings squeak. Movement, and then a moan, long and breathy.

 

Foggy.

 

Matt turns tail and runs. He shouldn’t have stayed this long—he knew what was going to happen. He doesn’t know what he was thinking, just standing there and _listening_ to Foggy moaning and panting and--

 

He stays in the library and studies for three hours, just to be sure, and then he makes his way slowly back to the dorm. It smells like sex again, the way it did when he found Foggy thinking of Matt and… and. It smells like sex, but not just Foggy this time. Perfume, cloying in Matt’s nose. He shakes his head sharply before he opens the door, huffing to try and make the smell less overpowering.

 

“Hey. You’re kind of late tonight. I was worried.”

 

Foggy sounds exhausted but pleased, shifting a little when Matt comes in. He’s still lying on the bed, Matt hears the loud, loud, too loud bedsprings squeak again, just like they did… before. Foggy’s heart’s still a bit fast. It’s not for Matt though—it’s the sound of someone who’s been extremely active recently and is still recovering.

 

Matt was gone for _three hours._ So much for Marci’s ‘fast and hard’. Unless three hours _is_ fast. Matt wonders for a strange moment how good Foggy’s stamina is. Then he shakes the thought out of his mind, horrified. It doesn’t matter how good Foggy’s stamina is. Matt does _not_ want to know, except to figure out how long he’ll have to evacuate in the future.

 

“You sound happy.” Matt can’t help but point out, and Foggy sighs blissfully.

 

“I am ecstatic.” He agrees. “And really, really tired. I think I’ll head to sleep, if that’s okay.”

 

“Sure.” Matt tells him. “I think I’ll take a shower, and then I’ll come join you.”

 

Foggy’s heartbeat, almost back to a resting state, spikes again. Matt thinks for a moment. Oh, ‘come join you’. Right. He usually tries to avoid suggestive statements like that around Foggy, doesn’t want to make things worse, but this one just slipped out. After all, Matt’s a little distracted. The perfume and the heavy, musky air are making his mind hazy.

 

“Uh, yeah.” Foggy agrees, shifting again with a squeak of springs, and these beds really need better maintenance, don't they? So Foggy has _very_  good stamina, Matt thinks distantly, because he knows that sound and it’s not because Foggy’s got a crick in his neck. “Sure. Night.”

 

“Night.” Matt agrees quietly, and he leaves. He takes three times longer in the shower than he usually does, because he can’t get the scent of Marci’s flowery perfume out of his nose.

 

He thinks about the fact that the room is going to smell like it too, maybe for days, and he feels sick.

 

* * *

 

Matt hates listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when Foggy’s dreaming.

 

A few days after the Marci Incident, Matt wakes up in the middle of the night to a hushed little whimper. Matt’s awake and alert in a second, because that whimper is Foggy and what if Foggy’s in trouble and—

 

Ah. Arousal. Whimper again and a leap in heartbeat.

 

Foggy’s asleep, Matt can tell from the way he’s not even trying to hide the sounds he’s making. It must be a hell of a dream, judging by the noises. This isn’t a new phenomenon. Foggy’s had dreams before like this. Matt only caught Foggy the once when he was awake, but the dreams are much more common.

 

And it’s not Foggy’s fault, Matt tells himself every time he wakes up to the gasps and the whimpers and the little hitching calls of Matt’s name. Foggy can’t control his dreams, and he’s so good about it when he’s awake, never pushing, never pressuring, always friendly and kind. It’s not Foggy’s fault that he’s attracted to Matt.

 

But Foggy would be embarrassed, if he knew. He’ll be embarrassed in the morning, if he wakes up to sticky sheets and the memory of his dream. Maybe Matt should wake him up now, before it’s too late. He doesn’t even have to tell Foggy about the way he talks, the way that Matt _knows._ He can just wake Foggy up, and let Foggy’s heart go back to normal, and Foggy will whisper goodnight again in a sleepy little voice, and he'll squeeze Matt hand when he thanks him, and it will be okay.

 

“Ma—ah!” Foggy gasps. There it is. Matt closes his eyes for a moment and shudders. He’s not sure why he shudders, because he’s not mad or disgusted. This isn’t wrong, it’s natural—just not convenient. It’s not Foggy’s fault, Matt tells himself again. It’s not Foggy’s fault that he dreams about—“Ma-Marci!”

 

 Oh.

 

Matt grits his teeth, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Foggy and Marci break up a month afterwards. Matt’s terrified that Foggy will cry and Matt will have to try to think of something deep and wise to say when all he wants to do is send a prayer of thanks up to God for this gift. Foggy doesn’t cry though. In fact, he seems incredibly calm about it.

 

“Marci’s an amazing girl.” Foggy tells Matt earnestly. “She’s great, but outside of the bedroom? We have nothing in common. I don’t want that kind of relationship. I want one that is like, you know, true love.”

 

Matt considers this statement. Foggy doesn’t want to date someone just on the basis of being attracted to them physically. He wants ‘true love’. This is actually remarkably good news, because Foggy is extremely attracted to Matt and he likes him a great deal, but there’s no way that Matt’s the ‘true love’ Foggy’s looking for. If that’s what Foggy’s waiting for, then he’ll never make a move on Matt. Matt will never have to tell him no.

 

“I’m glad.” Matt tells him honestly. “You deserve that.” Foggy sighs, and his heartbeat’s strong and steady.

 

“Thanks, Matt. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

 

Foggy will find his ‘true love’, Matt assures himself. Foggy will find them, and everything will be fine.

 

Foggy won’t ask, and Matt won’t have to say no. It’s fine.

 

* * *

 

Matt hates listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when he’s around Karen.

 

She’s not the first person Foggy’s had a crush on, other than Matt. Actually, Foggy has dated a few other people throughout law school, and then during their time in at Landman and Zack. Matt is a little perturbed, because he meets most of Foggy’s boyfriends and girlfriends and there’s no way Foggy actually thinks any of these people could be his ‘true love’, is there?

 

They’re alright, Matt supposes. They all tend to be relatively nice, and they all seem to like Foggy very much. There’s nothing _wrong_ with them, they’re just not _right_ for Foggy.

 

None of them make Foggy laugh enough, Matt thinks. None of them know about Foggy’s little pet peeves and idiosyncrasies, the junk food he likes, or that Foggy won a blue ribbon in grade school for a project on echolocation. Well, maybe they do, Foggy likes to speak and share, but they don’t know these things _enough._ Foggy needs someone who understands him, who loves him quirks and all. Foggy needs someone who treats him right, who puts Foggy first and takes care of him. Foggy takes care of everyone else already—he needs to be spoiled, have gifts and love showered on him freely and often.

 

Foggy needs someone perfect, Matt thinks. He needs someone perfect, because _Foggy’s_ perfect, and he needs someone to match.

 

Foggy seems to think that Karen Page might be this perfect person. Matt hears his heart speed up when he meets her, and then when she comes to work for them. Foggy stumbles over his words and his feet around Karen, and he’s so obviously smitten it’s almost painful.

 

It _is_ painful, when Matt listens to Karen’s heart. Karen’s heart is slow and steady around Foggy, but around Matt? It’s as fast as Foggy’s used to be.

 

Matt wonders sometimes if the rest of the world is even blinder than he is. Why do people see him and Foggy, side by side, and choose _Matt?_ It makes no sense. Yes, Matt knows that he’s attractive, but Foggy’s… Foggy. He’s flawless despite his flaws. Matt can’t fathom how someone could meet Foggy and _not_ immediately realize this fact, and then proceed to fawn over Foggy for the rest of forever.

 

He tries nudging Karen, but every time he gets her alone and tries to talk about her relationship prospects, Karen just gets a bit breathless and her heart beats faster and that is _not_ where Matt is trying to go with the topic of relationship prospects. _Matt’s_ not supposed to be one of her relationship prospects.

 

Foggy’s not dumb. He figures it out only a little after Matt does.

 

“It’s okay.” He sighs to Matt over drinks at Josie’s. “I knew it was a long shot.”

 

Matt frowns.

 

“Wait, why was it a long shot?” He asks, confused. Foggy laughs and it’s a light, airy sound.

 

“Seriously? Matt, we met her at the same time. It’s a fact of life—if you’re in the room when I meet someone, they’ll never look twice at me.” He doesn’t even sound bitter about it. Matt hadn’t realized that Foggy noticed the pattern too. It makes Matt uncomfortable and bizarrely guilty. He doesn’t _want_ people to notice him. He wants them to notice Foggy.

 

“That’s not true.” He tries, and Foggy laughs again.

 

“Oh man, your face. You look like you’re sucking on a lemon. A liar lemon.” Matt winces, and Foggy sighs, touching Matt’s arm. “Hey, it’s cool. It’s not your fault you’re wonderful, Matt.”

 

But Foggy’s better. How do people not _realize_ that?

 

“If they don’t look twice at you, then they’re not worth looking twice at.” Matt tells him frankly. “They’re obviously not smart enough for you.”

 

“Ha, tell that to Karen.” Foggy says, chuckling. “It might be the last thing you ever do.” Matt shakes his head.

 

“No, Karen’s great, just—“ He sighs, frustrated. “She doesn’t have good taste in men, apparently.”

 

“Uh, she kind of really does.” Foggy tells him bluntly, sounding incredibly entertained, not at all awkward or uncomfortable.

 

And his heart stays steady. It doesn’t race around Matt nearly as much anymore, even when Foggy says things like this, a little too appreciative. It hasn’t skipped a beat for days around Matt, actually. Matt hadn’t noticed at the time, but he’s suddenly aware of it. He can’t remember the last time Foggy’s heart skipped a beat around him.

 

Foggy’s growing out of it, Matt thinks. He’s growing out of his crush. As long as Matt doesn’t do anything to stir it back up again, it’ll fade away in no time. It’s a good thing.

 

It’s good.

 

“Here, let’s get you another drink.” Matt tells him fondly, and reaches out to take Foggy’s glass. Foggy’s fingers are still wrapped around it, and Matt’s brush against them when he pulls it away. The glass is slippery of course, so Matt has to get a better hold before taking it from Foggy—let his fingers linger a little, resting there against Foggy’s hand for a long moment or two, gentle and warm, before pulling away nice and slow. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Matt murmurs lowly.

 

Foggy makes a tiny, startled sound and his heart skips a beat like it hasn’t for a long time. Matt smiles at him brightly.

 

Oops.

 

* * *

 

Matt hates listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when he’s in the hospital.

 

The spaces between the beats are too long, and the sound itself is too quiet. Matt can barely hear it over the whirring and beeping of the machines.

 

Foggy’s out cold, probably dosed with enough pain meds to take out an elephant. He hadn’t even stirred when Matt snuck past the nurses and slipped into the room. Matt sits at the end of Foggy’s bed and listens to the sound of breathing, not quite right because Foggy's not quite right. He's hurt, and his breathing shows it. Matt wonders if Foggy is having a bad dream. He’d have a reason to, Matt supposes bitterly.

 

After all, he’s a victim of the bombs. The bombs that everyone is sure Matt set off.

 

He wonders what Foggy would say if Matt woke him up, told him the truth. Foggy must be scared right now, scared and confused about the bedlam in the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. If Matt could explain, Foggy wouldn’t have to be scared anymore. He trusts Matt, Matt knows it, more than anything. If Matt told Foggy that he was safe, that Matt was going to keep him safe…

 

He remembers Karen’s words to him when Matt had finally returned her calls. ‘He’s furious’, Karen tells him. ‘He hates this guy, Matt.’

 

If Matt told Foggy that Matt was going to keep him safe and Foggy didn’t _believe_ him, Matt isn’t sure what he’d do. Foggy might not trust Matt anymore, if he knew the truth. He would worry about Matt too, even if he didn’t trust him—that’s the way Foggy is, too softhearted for his own good. It’s better this way. Matt can keep him safe anyway, and Foggy won’t have to worry.

 

Foggy makes a sleepy little mumble and Matt hears the bed shift as Foggy rolls onto his uninjured side. His heartbeat’s still too slow, but his breathing is peaceful now, soft. It calms Matt nerves, soothes away the tension that hasn’t left his body all night. This is Matt’s version of a lullaby, the familiar and comforting sound of Foggy. It’s the sound that got him to sleep countless nights during school, the one that made Matt feel safe when he woke up from a nightmare.

 

“Mm. Matt.” For a moment, Matt thinks Foggy’s seen him. He’s not sure what he can say that will make this not seem creepy, sitting here in the dark while Foggy's sleeping. Matt doubts he can say that he just didn’t notice it was night because he’s blind. ‘Blind things’ doesn’t work so well on Foggy. “Matt.” Foggy sighs again.

 

Matt realizes with a little lurch that Foggy’s asleep. He’s asleep and dreaming of Matt, and there’s not a hint of lust in his voice. His heartbeat is still slow. He’s dreaming of Matt, but it’s not a sex dream. He’s dreaming of Matt and it’s making him hum happily and wiggle a bit in his bed like he’s holding something warm and soft.The sheets here are too rough, Matt thinks just from the sound they make as Foggy moves. He'll have to tell Claire that.

 

So Foggy’s dreaming about Matt, and Matt wants to climb into bed right beside him and be the thing that Foggy’s holding, warm and soft. He wants to close his eyes and stay there all night until he knows Foggy's okay, and then Foggy will wake up in the morning and he’ll be happy. He’d be happy, wouldn’t he? He adores Matt—Matt is _literally_ the man of his dreams. And maybe he’d lean up a little, and brush a kiss across Matt’s lips, hesitant and sweet.

 

Matt’s never thought about it before. He’s always been so focused on making sure Foggy _didn’t_ kiss him. He’d worried about what might happen afterwards if Foggy did. He hadn’t thought about what it would feel like in the moment, Foggy’s lips pressed to his, Foggy’s body warm and close. Foggy tilting his head just a fraction, leaning in and putting his hand on Matt’s cheek, running a finger delicately along the skin, sighing warm into Matt’s mouth.

 

Foggy murmuring how long he’s wanted to do this, how good Matt makes him feel. How good he wants to make _Matt_ feel.

 

Well. Matt hadn’t _consciously_ thought about what it would feel like if Foggy kissed him, but apparently his subconscious has been a busy little bee.

 

And Matt feels ill, because when it comes down to it, he’s not any better than Marci was. All of the things he’s thinking about, they’re physical. They’re lustful, all the things he suddenly realizes he _wants._ Matt is sure now that he would love to _sleep_ with Foggy, but he’s not sure he can love _Foggy_. Not in the way Foggy wants.

 

That’s even worse, that makes it even worse than before. Foggy wants Matt, and in the long run he wants love. Matt wants Foggy, and other than that he doesn’t know what the hell he wants. And he can’t do that to Foggy, lead him along like that.

 

He can’t tell Foggy how much he wants him, because Foggy doesn't need 'want', he needs 'need'. Need and love. Matt will have to pretend nothing’s changed, because nothing _has_ changed, has it? Apparently Matt’s felt like this for a while without knowing it, judging by the detail of his fantasies. It’s never interfered with his relationship with Foggy. He can just ignore it again, and it’ll be fine.

 

Matt’s very good at ignoring things he doesn’t want to think about, after all.

 

But, as long as Foggy’s asleep… Matt can’t kiss him, not the way he wants to. That wouldn’t be fair, it would be taking advantage while Foggy didn’t have a say. That would be wrong, but maybe just a little…

 

Matt leans down and presses a long, lingering kiss to Foggy’s forehead. The skin is hot under Matt’s lips—maybe a fever, why aren’t the doctors taking better care of him, where did they even _get_ their degrees—but smooth and soft. Foggy uses exfoliator, Matt remembers with a pang of fondness. Cocoa butter scrub. Foggy says he likes having a clean and clear complexion, and unlike _certain_ people he has to work for it.

 

After feeling how soft Foggy’s skin is for himself, Matt can wholeheartedly support the cocoa butter scrub.

 

He lingers too long, a hand threading through Foggy’s hair and smoothing down the bedhead a little. It’s an absent gesture—Matt always does it when he remembers, doesn’t even have to check if he needs to because Foggy _always_ has bedhead. It makes Foggy’s heart race sometimes, but Foggy needs to look professional so Matt does it anyway, every chance he gets.

 

He lingers and strokes Foggy’s hair, and he doesn’t realize how long he’s been there until Foggy shifts up into the touch and mumbles ‘Matt’ again under his breath.

 

Matt pulls away, gasping.

 

Foggy’s still asleep, but his heartbeat is speeding up a little. His breaths are coming more quickly. Matt knows what all of that means.

 

He’s not quite sure what he’ll do if he hears Foggy dreaming about him _that_ way, the way Matt hasn’t heard in years. He’s not sure he’ll be able to sigh and ignore it the way he always did before.

 

Matt flees.

 

* * *

 

Matt flees, but when he gets to his apartment and tries to fall asleep, he can’t get the sound of Foggy’s heart out of his head. The way it was so soft and steady, and then Matt had given him just the littlest kiss and Foggy had been able to _sense_ it, even in his dreams. He’s that aware of Matt, that in tune with him.

 

Foggy’s heart knows Matt is there, even when Foggy doesn’t.

 

And he thinks about that quiet little breath, the way that Foggy had murmured Matt’s name, sleep-soft. The way he’d moved into Matt’s touch, no hesitation and no thought—just instinct. Matt’s close, get him even closer.

 

And what if Matt _had_ gotten even closer? What if he’d let his lips trail down, over the bridge of Foggy’s nose, settling warm and soft against Foggy’s mouth? He’d thought it wasn’t fair at the time, that Foggy wouldn’t have a choice, but wouldn’t Matt _be_ his choice? Foggy always chooses Matt. He’d choose him this time too, wouldn’t he?

 

So Foggy would wake up, and he’d move into it again, sighing and wrapping his arms around Matt’s neck, pulling him even closer. Matt wouldn’t lose his balance when Foggy pulled, but he would pretend he did and let himself press against Foggy at every place he could. And Foggy would give a little gasp when he realized Matt knew how hard Foggy was for him, but then he’d realize that Matt felt just the same and he’d laugh into Matt’s mouth and reach down to touch…

 

Matt shudders. Just as bad as Marci—no worse. He _loves_ Foggy, just not in the right way. And this  _is_ wrong, no ambiguity about it. He shouldn’t lie here and think about all the ways he wants Foggy to show Matt he loves him when Matt can’t do the same.

 

Foggy doesn’t need lust, Matt thinks again. He needs _love_ —the _right_ kind of love.

 

Matt squeezes his eyes shut and tries to forget about the aching between his legs. He won’t let himself touch, because if he starts he won’t be able to stop and it will just get worse, imagining all the tender things Foggy would say and do. Matt hates it, because he _wants_ Foggy to love him, even if Matt can’t feel the same. He wants Foggy to love him, and he wants Foggy to _tell_ Matt he loves him.

 

 _…Does_ Foggy love him?

 

Foggy’s never given any indication that he thought Matt was the ‘true love’ he was searching for. Foggy lusts for Matt, but that’s not uncommon. Foggy likes Matt despite knowing about Matt’s many, many flaws, which is significantly more uncommon. But Foggy’s never shown any definitive signs of love. Crush, certainly, but love?

 

There are other people that Foggy’s attracted to, Matt remembers. People he’s had crushes on. Karen, for one, a wonderful woman that Foggy spends almost every day with. Matt had always assumed that Foggy’s feelings for Matt ran deeper than they did for his other crushes, and he’d thought that the reason might be that they knew each other so well. But Foggy is getting to know Karen very well too, faster than Matt would have thought possible.

 

Karen would be an easy person to love, Matt thinks. Foggy’s already halfway there and Karen’s not stupid, although she can be a bit rash. She’s not stupid, and she’ll notice how Foggy feels about her. She’ll notice how kind Foggy is, and how funny, and she’ll realize that she bet on the wrong horse, didn’t she? But they haven’t known each other long, it will be easy enough to smooth it over and move on. They’ll be able to laugh about it later, how Karen had a silly little crush on Matt before she realized how perfect Foggy was.

 

And Foggy might very well fall in love with Karen. She’s smart, nice, and Foggy tells Matt that she’s _very_ pretty. She’s had her fair share of trouble but she’s come out smiling and on top. She’s tough, a survivor. She cares about Foggy already and nurtures him. Matt had thought before that Foggy needed that, and Karen can give it to him. Karen cares easily, almost as easily as Foggy does.

 

Karen’s an easy person to love. Matt’s not.

 

* * *

 

Matt hates listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when Foggy’s talking about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

 

Foggy’s so angry when he talks about him. His heart ratchets up, loud and fierce to match his words. Foggy’s talking about Matt, and Foggy _hates_ him.

 

“Who knows what he’ll do next. Maybe he’ll manage to take out the half of Hell’s Kitchen that he missed the last time he tried to destroy the city.” Foggy’s telling him. He’s tossing his softball up and down in the air, Matt hears the slap of leather against Foggy’s palm every time he catches it. It’s a sign that he’s emotional, trying to calm himself down.

 

Emotional. Angry.

 

Angry at Matt.

 

“If I ever meet this guy, I swear. I’ve got two fists with his name on it—ugh, whatever the hell his name is. It’s probably something ridiculous and villainous, like Snidely Whiplash. He looks like a Snidely Whiplash. I think—“

 

“Foggy?” Matt asks, and his voice comes out a little too loud.

 

“Yeah, buddy?” Foggy asks him absently, obviously about to go off into another tirade about the Devil and just waiting for the chance to do so.

 

“Do you remember in law school, when we’d make a strong case, and then we’d have to make an even _stronger_ case for opposite side?  Outsmart ourselves?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Foggy says, bemused.

 

“And you remember how you were so good at it? You were the best one in the class, not even Marci could beat you. Remember?”

 

“Yeah, that was awesome.” Foggy agrees, sounding distantly smug. Matt nods, taking a deep breath.

 

“I really need you to do that right now, for this masked man.”

 

Foggy literally drops the ball. It lands on the ground with a heavy little thump.

 

“What?” Foggy yelps. “You want me to—there _is_ no case for him, Matt. He has no defense. He’s a terrorist!”

 

“No, you can do it.” Matt urges. “Just… think.” Foggy makes an unhappy sound, and Matt bites his lip. “Please?”

 

“Why?” Foggy asks, sounding incredibly frustrated. “What’s the point?” Matt swallows.

 

“You’ve never let yourself be narrow-minded.” Matt explains carefully. “You always give people a chance. But with this man, you just assume the worst.” Matt hesitates. “Innocent until proven guilty, remember? Just… try?”

 

“This is pointless.” Foggy complains, but when Matt says nothing, he sighs. “Okay, fine. But you have to be opposing counsel. Go ahead, do your worst, make me hate him.”

 

Well, this going to be an interesting conversation.

 

“Everyone is sure that he did it.” Matt starts unsurely. Foggy pauses. He really doesn’t want to do this, Matt thinks. Then Foggy sighs again, and Matt hears the rustle of fabric as Foggy rolls his shoulders forward, stretching. Preparing himself for a battle, one he doesn’t want to fight.

 

“Hearsay.” He says slowly, tepidly. “It’s all speculation, unfounded conspiracy inflamed by a hysterical media.”

 

 _Yes,_ Matt victoriously. _Yes, it is._

 

“There is photographic evidence that he committed the crime. Footage.” Foggy snorts, and he sounds a little more interested.

 

“Right, like those things can’t be doctored. No eyewitnesses have come forward to corroborate the evidence.” He sounds more confident by the end, getting more into it.

 

_Mostly because they’re all dead._

“The police officers who attempted to arrest him are witnesses.”

 

“Different crime, not relevant to this incident.” Foggy says quickly. He’s excited now—Matt wasn’t lying, Foggy’s always been fantastic at this, better than anyone Matt’s ever met. “Oh, and even if it was? Those cops pulled guns without giving the man warning, and then they attempted to use force. The beginnings of police brutality. The man must have been scared out of his mind, barely surviving a bomb detonated at point-blank rage, hurt and confused and then attacked by the people he was supposed to be able to trust.”

 

The tips of his hair brushing against his shoulders and Matt guesses that he's leaning forward meaningfully. It’s a sure sign he’s about to say something devastatingly effective.

 

“It’s not the man’s fault he knows how to defend himself. Anyone with the proper training would have done the same.”

 

 _Yes!_ Matt thinks again, exultant. _Yes, you understand! I knew you would, I knew it._

“If he didn’t set the bombs, who did?” Foggy laughs sharply.

 

“Uh, any of the hundreds of scumbag criminals running around Hell’s Kitchen?” He offers sarcastically. He sounds invested now, thinking about it harder than he ever did before. Thinking past his anger. “They’re just as likely to have done it—more likely, actually, considering the scope of the attack. One man? It would have been near impossible.”

 

 _Exactly!_ Matt wants to get up, walk around his desk and hug Foggy, never let go. Foggy understands, he does. He can defend Matt better than Matt can defend himself. It’s always been that way.

 

But there’s something else, something Foggy said before. It’s the important part, because even if Foggy understands everything else…

 

“He wears a mask. He’s hiding something.” Matt says, and he hates himself a little for it. Foggy’s so close to talking himself out of hating the masked man, and Matt’s undoing all of that because he can’t stop picking.

 

He expects Foggy to do what he did before, snap that obviously the man is hiding, he’s a criminal. He’s a coward. He’s a monster. Instead Foggy sighs, and it’s tired.

 

“Everyone’s hiding something, Matt.” Foggy tells him quietly. “Sometimes they need to hide it. It’s better that way.”

 

The way he says it is weary and wistful, and Matt feels his voice stick in his throat.

 

 _Are you talking about me?_ He wonders. _Hiding that you want me? Hiding that that you’ve always wanted me?_

And Matt used to think it _was_ better that way. He remembers being so relieved that Foggy never said anything, first because it would have been embarrassing and later because Matt didn’t want to hurt Foggy. Matt didn’t want to lose him.

 

Now though, he thinks of Foggy sighing into Matt’s mouth and whispering how much he loves him, and he starts to think that maybe it’s not better at all.

 

“Maybe the man doesn’t want to hide.” Matt says thickly. “Maybe he has to. Maybe he’s scared.”

 

And he is scared, terrified that Foggy will figure it out and suddenly it won’t be an interesting hypothetical, it will be Matt hiding and lying to him for years and years. Foggy forgives a lot of things Matt does, but Matt’s not stupid enough to think he’ll forgive that.

 

“Maybe.” Foggy agrees softly. “But he can’t hide forever.”

 

Foggy’s heart is steady. Matt’s isn’t.

 

He can’t hide forever.

 

* * *

 

Matt hates listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when Foggy finds him on the floor, cuts and bruises and a mask in his hand.

 

It sounds like Foggy’s heart is breaking.

 

Matt tells Foggy everything, quick and desperate like if he says it fast enough it won’t sound as awful. He thinks he’s crying, and then he knows he is. Foggy is crying too, little hitching sobs that he’s trying to hide but Matt can hear them anyway.

 

And now Foggy knows he can.

 

“So, you’ve known when I was lying this whole time? And you never said anything?” Foggy checks softly, voice damp with tears. Matt nods slowly. “And you said you can tell what people are thinking, feeling. From everything they do, that they can’t control. From their _heartbeat.”_

“Not everything.” Matt denies. “I can’t tell everything. Not even close to everything.”

 

Foggy is quiet for a long moment. Another hiccuping little sob.

 

“But you know how I feel about you.” He says quietly, and he sounds absolutely broken. “You’ve always known, because I felt it the first day I met you. I’ve never stopped.”

 

Matt wants to lie. _I have no idea what you’re talking about. You mean friend-feelings, right? Best friend feelings, no awkward attraction that I ignored for years and years and years because I was scared of losing you._

Matt doesn’t want to lie to Foggy anymore.

 

He nods. Foggy sobs again, and Matt hears him stumbling backwards like he can’t quite keep himself standing anymore.

 

“Right.” Foggy laughs bitterly. “Of course you knew. I bet you thought it was funny.”

 

“No!” Matt cries, and he struggles to sit up because he needs to get to Foggy and hold him and tell him it’s alright. He hisses when moving causes his chest to flare with pain, and then Foggy’s pushing him back down.

 

“Stop, Matt.” Foggy tells him softly, and he still sounds absolutely devastated but also worried. Caring. “You’ll just make it worse.” Matt’s not sure if Foggy’s talking about Matt’s injuries.

 

“I never thought it was funny.” He uses Foggy’s compassion against him, grabs his hand while he's still close enough and refuses to let go when Foggy tries to pull away. “Please.”

 

“Just pathetic then.” Foggy mutters brokenly. “Because that’s so much better.” Matt shakes his head.

 

“No, I never thought it was pathetic either.” He promises fervently. “I thought it was baffling, because I never understood what you saw in me, but I never thought it was pathetic.” Foggy makes a derisive sound.

 

“Seriously?” He asks sharply. “You don’t get what I see in you?” Matt shakes his head miserably, and Foggy sighs, squeezes his hand. “God you’re stupid. Obviously I’m not in it for your brains.” He mutters to himself, and then groans when Matt winces and bites his lip. “No, just—ugh, hold on. You look pitiful and I want to check your bandages.”

 

Matt shifts when he feels the slight pull on his hand downwards—Foggy’s kneeling down next to him, using his free hand to reach out and prod softly at the edges of Matt’s bandages. He’s so gentle. His fingers are careful and light, and Matt lets go of Foggy’s other hand when he’s confident that man won’t run.

 

The other hand joins the first, quick and tender. Matt shivers.

 

“I guess there’s no point trying to make this sound platonic anymore.” Foggy muses wryly. “Okay. Matt, look, you’re amazing. You’re smart and funny and too kind for your own good. You always want to do the right thing—a little too much, considering your nocturnal activism.” He huffs out a short laugh at the thought. “You’re thoughtful, and you’re sweet. You like to take care of people. You’re just… amazing.”

 

He sounds so incredibly warm. Matt’s chest feels tight, and he doesn’t think it’s from the bandages.

 

“You didn’t mention my appearance.” Matt points out quietly, and Foggy gives a startled laugh.

 

“God, you’re so _shallow._ How is that even possible?” He asks, and Matt flinches. He’s not the shallow one—it’s everyone else, everyone who meets him and wants him and knows nothing, nothing about him.

 

Foggy knows everything, and he still wants Matt. He’s the only one in the world who’s done that.

 

Foggy sighs and tightens a bandage a little.

 

“I don’t know if you want to hear this part, Matt. The rest, you can maybe file away under way-too-gooey friendship thoughts, but this…”

 

“Please?” Matt asks, and he hates how small and eager his voice sounds. Foggy remains silent for a long time. Matt thinks he’s going to say no, thinks he’s pushed Foggy too far. Then Foggy reaches up and brushes a strand of sweaty hair from Matt’s forehead.

 

“You’re beautiful.” Foggy tells him quietly. “People always think you’re handsome, but I’m not sure they realize how _beautiful_ you are.”

 

“I…” Matt can’t think of anything to say. He’s not sure he wants to hear this anymore—it’s too deep, too close.

 

He wants to hear it more than anything in the world.

 

“I mean, everything, you know? Your hands, your shoulders, your neck, your mouth. Your _smile_.” Foggy exhales shakily. “Just… beautiful. Every day, more and more beautiful.” He stops, and makes a weak little sob again. “Can I please stop now?”

 

Matt hates himself, but he wants to say no. He wants to make Foggy tell him more, tell him all the everyday things that make Matt beautiful to him. He wants to know what Foggy was dreaming about all those times Matt heard him say Matt’s name. He wants to know what Foggy was dreaming about in the hospital, when he’d been soft and happy and thinking of Matt. Matt’s selfish, and he’s cruel, and he wants to keep pushing until Foggy gives him _everything._

“You can stop.” He tells Foggy quietly. “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it.” Foggy mutters, and then he pauses. “No, seriously, do not mention it. Ever again. I don’t think I could take it, Matt.”

 

“I… I won’t.” Matt promises weakly. He’s not sure it’s a promise he can keep. Foggy pulls away after knotting one of Matt’s bandages a little tighter.

 

“Good.” Foggy says softly, and he sounds sad. “So, I guess there aren’t any reciprocal heartfelt confessions you’d like to offer tonight. Are there?” And he sounds so hopeful for a moment, and Matt feels his breath catch.

 

He needs to say something clever, something kind. He needs to say something brilliant, something that will make Foggy laugh and lean in and kiss him and tell Matt again how beautiful he is. Matt _needs_ to.

 

Matt doesn’t say anything. It feels like he's paralyzed with panic. 

 

“Right.” Foggy sighs, all the hope has faded from his voice. He just sounds tired and a little numb. Foggy pulls away, and it’s cold suddenly where his hands were touching Matt just a moment ago. Where Foggy’s hands _should_ be, right now. All night. All always.

 

“I…” He can’t think of anything to say. _I really want to kiss you and take you to bed, but I’m not sure what I want to do afterwards. You love me, I know you do, but I’m not sure I can love you back. I might be able to. Let me try. I think you’re beautiful too. Please kiss me._

Matt doesn’t say _anything._

 

Foggy brushes a hand across his cheek gently before pulling away, and his heartbeat gets fainter and fainter as he walks away.

 

“Go to sleep, Matt.”

 

* * *

 

What happens is this:

 

“No.” Matt says firmly, and he pushes himself up to his feet and it doesn’t even hurt. “This is important. You’re important.”

 

“You don’t feel the same way, Matt.” Foggy tells him quietly. “It’s okay.”

 

“I do.” Matt says back, and he knows it’s true, knows suddenly and completely how true it is. “I love you too. More than anything. Please let me show you.”

 

He pulls Foggy close, and Foggy moans when Matt presses them together. Matt wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer, tilting Foggy’s chin up just an inch so that he can kiss Foggy, the way he’s wanted to for longer than he ever realized.

 

Foggy gives another little moan, and he tangles his hands in Matt’s hair and tugs Matt even closer, until they’re touching everywhere. And Foggy’s hard, god he’s so _hard_. Matt reaches down and he can taste Foggy’s gasp in his mouth, the way that Foggy thrusts just a little up into Matt’s hand, like he just can’t help himself.

 

“Perfect.” Matt whispers. “You’re perfect.”

 

And Foggy whimpers when Matt strokes him a little, until Foggy’s shaking with it, and then he takes Foggy into his arms and he carries him to the bedroom.

 

And Foggy _is_ perfect, whimpering and telling Matt over and over again how beautiful Matt is, all the things Matt wanted to hear but was afraid to ask for. ‘I love you’, Foggy whispers into his ear when Matt’s all the way inside him, and Matt whispers it back and Foggy’s perfect and they’re perfect together and everything’s perfect and…

 

And Matt wakes up.

 

* * *

 

What _really_ happens is this:

 

“Go to sleep, Matt.”

 

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Matt hates listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when Foggy’s not there.

 

Foggy’s heart is the only thing that Matt can hear from anywhere in the city. It’s not a matter of volume, it’s a matter of familiarity—even through the dizzying din of Hell’s Kitchen, Foggy’s heart remains clear and calming. It’s like hearing an out-of-tune orchestra, and then there’s a bright little flute that hits all the right notes and soars, strong and sweet over all the other instruments.

 

He’s listening right now, and the sound is quiet and distant because _Foggy’s_ quiet and distant. He goes to work, and he acts the same as always, joking and jovial. Then work is over, and Foggy leaves the office quickly, refusing any and all offers Matt tries to make to spend more time together. He says it easy and casual—oh, no, he’s got to call his mother, or clean his apartment, or go to a cooking class.

 

Foggy joined a cooking class just so he could use it as an excuse to avoid spending time with Matt. That’s commitment.

 

And it’s even worse, because it’s _just_ with Matt. If Karen asks him if he wants to grab dinner or drinks, Foggy says yes in a second, even leads her to the door. Matt sees their body heat almost merging into one bright flame, and it’s infuriating—why is Foggy leading Karen? She’s not _blind._ Foggy doesn’t need to lead _her._

Foggy doesn’t lead Matt anymore. Matt had made the mistake of telling Foggy about his world on fire, and now Foggy knows he doesn’t _have_ to lead Matt anymore. He never even offers.

 

Foggy treats Matt normally at work, Foggy and Karen go out to dinner, and then Foggy goes home, doesn’t call Matt to say goodnight, and does it all again the next day. Every day. For weeks.

 

And Matt can _hear_ his heart, even when he’s blocks away. He can hear the way it speeds up just a little when he’s happy, and it’s not because of Matt. He can hear the way it slows in sleep, soft, and he's not next to Matt. He can hear Foggy’s heartbeat get faster sometimes in the morning, and he knows that Foggy has just woken up from a very good dream, and he didn’t say Matt’s name.

 

He can hear everything, and it’s _never_ because of Matt anymore.

 

Matt doesn’t even realize he’s stopped eating until Foggy storms into his office and shoves a smoothie into his hand.

 

“You’re an idiot.” Foggy tells him flatly, sitting on Matt’s desk and basically stabbing Matt with a straw until Matt takes it and puts it in the smoothie. “Drink.”

 

Matt does, meekly. It’s his favorite flavor, chocolate raspberry, and Foggy even got him the extra swirls of chocolate syrup that you have to ask specially for and pay an extra dollar. Matt loves those extra swirls of chocolate syrup. Of course Foggy would know that. Of course.

 

“Thank you.” Matt tells him quietly when he’s done, and he hears the straw rattle when Foggy shakes the cup to make sure Matt drank it all.

 

“Idiot.” Foggy says again, and he still sounds irritated but also maybe a little fond. “You’re like a baby duck, I swear. You imprinted on me, and now you can’t even feed yourself unless I make you.”

 

“Sorry.” Matt says sheepishly. “I forgot. I was…”

 

 _Being miserable about messing everything up._ He doesn’t want to say it.

 

“Being miserable about messing everything up?” Foggy asks wryly, and Matt blinks at him, stunned. How…? Foggy snorts. “You pretty much always feel that way, Matt, even when it’s not your fault.”

 

“Ah.” Matt decides not to mention that is usually _is_ his fault. Foggy just doesn’t blame him.

 

Foggy sighs.

 

“So, in addition to not eating, you’ve also completely missed that the weekend started about an hour ago.”

 

“Did it?” Matt had honestly thought it was Wednesday. The days have sort of blended together recently. He just knows he goes to work, he goes home, Foggy isn’t there, he goes out and fights, he goes back home and Foggy still isn’t there, he falls asleep after at least an hour of wishing Foggy was there, and then he wakes up and does it all again. The name of the day hasn’t really mattered, because they all mean the same thing.

 

“Yeah, it did. And I’ve wasted the first hour of my weekend buying you food, so I am going to go home now.” Matt nods, resigning himself to another long night. “And you are coming with me.”

 

“What?” Matt squeaks, because that cannot be meant in the way he hopes it is. Foggy’s already standing and grabbing his coat.

 

“I have a recipe for pasta that I am going to try, and you are my guinea pig.” He tells Matt easily. “Mrs. Philips shared it last night—she says that it will change your life.”

 

Right, his cooking class. The one he joined just to avoid Matt.

 

“Sounds good.” Matt agrees, even though he sort of wishes he was going home with Foggy to try something other than pasta.

 

“You get to chop the fruit for the salad.” Foggy tells him. “Because apparently you’re a ninja, and completely realistic phone apps have taught me that all ninjas can expertly chop fruit.”

 

He’s teasing, the way he hasn’t since he found out about Matt. And he’s talking about Matt’s senses, like they’re normal. Like he’s okay with them. And Matt knows it’s not quite that easy, but Foggy’s _trying_ and that’s more than Matt ever hoped for.

 

Foggy’s trying. He’s giving Matt a chance.

 

“Anything you want.” Matt agrees quickly, and then winces when he hears how earnest and breathless his voice comes out.

 

Foggy is quiet for a moment, and then he sighs, walking around Matt’s desk to pull him up from his chair.

 

“Come on, Matt. Let’s go home.”

 

Foggy leads Matt to the door. He knows he doesn’t have to, but he does it anyway. And Matt holds on too tightly, presses too close. He can’t help himself. He was so worried he wouldn’t get to have this again—he can’t let go of it now. He won’t let go.

 

Foggy doesn’t ask him to.

 

* * *

 

The pasta actually is delicious, and so is the fruit salad. Foggy tells him with no small amount of pride that he’s the prodigy of his class.

 

“And they’re all cute little old ladies, and they think I’m adorable.” Foggy tells him happily. “They keep trying to set me up with their daughters—and in one memorable case, her very, very hot son.”

 

“Oh?” Matt says as lightly as he can. Foggy’s talked about other people to Matt before, talked about how attractive Foggy finds them, but this is the first time he’s done it since he called Matt beautiful.

 

Beautiful is better than hot, right?

 

“Yeah.” Foggy admits. “Very hot. Fireman, which is a total cliché—he actually did one of the calendars, apparently.”

 

“How nice for him.” Too snide, too sharp. Abort, abort. “And did you say yes?” Matt tries again, trying to sound interested and supportive.

 

“Well, I didn’t invite _him_ over for pasta.” Foggy points out flippantly. “Nah. He was nice and he seemed interested, but he wasn’t really my type.” He hesitates.

 

“What didn’t you like about him?” Matt asks carefully, because he doesn’t want to encourage Foggy into rethinking his refusal, but a hot fireman sounds like _exactly_ Foggy’s type. He has a thing for hot and heroic. He’s dated a hot policeman, a hot ER surgeon, and a hot Navy SEAL. Matt’s not sure how he fits into that formula.

 

“Well, he was dumb as a stump. He was poor as dirt. Oh, and he didn’t like lawyers.” Foggy lists off easily. Matt blinks at him.

 

“Really?” He asks, shocked and impressed. It’s hard to be that bad a match for Foggy. Foggy likes everyone. Foggy sighs, and Matt hears the quiet swish of him running a hand through his hair. The movement briefly strengthens the smell of his shampoo, raspberry-sweet. When he shifts, the collar of his shirt rubs a little along his skin, and Matt smells the cocoa body scrub Foggy uses.

 

Oh. _That’s_ why chocolate raspberry is Matt’s favorite flavor.

 

“No.” Foggy admits, embarrassed. “Actually, he graduated from Harvard, won the lottery, and he made it very clear that he really, _really_ likes lawyers.”

 

“Ah.” Matt offers, disheartened and a little confused. Stupid hot fireman. “So why _didn’t_ you ask him out?” Stupid Hot Fireman sounds pretty Stupid Perfect.

 

Foggy mutters something, and even with his advanced hearing Matt can’t quite pick it up.

 

“What?” He asks, and Foggy huffs.

 

 “I _said,_ he might have mentioned that he didn’t like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen very much. And that he wanted to strangle him with a fire hose.”

 

“Well, that’s not exactly an uncommon sentiment.” Matt points out gently, and Foggy makes a frustrated sound, stabbing at a strawberry with a clacking sound of metal fork on china, hard enough Matt’s worried he might break the plate.

 

“I know, I know, it’s just—I don’t know. I understand the feeling, believe me I do, but that doesn’t mean I want other people to feel that way.”

 

“So you said you weren’t interested?” Matt asks, just to be sure he doesn’t need to hunt Stupid Hot Fireman down and let him know the animosity is mutual. Very mutual.

 

“ _So_ I may have told him that I could probably run him down with his fire truck before he got to the hose and then get myself acquitted the same day.” Foggy tells him bluntly. “You know, casually.”

 

Matt chokes on a grape.

 

“What?” He gasps when he gets his breath back. “Foggy, what if he figures out you know me? You could be in danger—“

 

“Oh, relax. I just added in a swooning comment or two about how sexy the whole masked vigilante thing is. He thinks I’m a fan boy.” Foggy sounds both exasperated and amused. “Apparently I’m pretty good at convincing people I’m in love with you.”

 

Matt freezes. His fork is actually poised in midair, and he doesn’t notice until Foggy tugs it gently from his fingers and places it with a slight click on the table.

 

“I, uh.” No, no, not again. He knows exactly what he’s supposed to say, what he wants to say, and none of it’s coming out. “Is… I…are…”

 

_Idiot._

 

Foggy laughs softly, running a hand through Matt’s hair.

 

“You fell asleep at the office, you know.” He says calmly. “And you said my name. A lot. Among other things.”

 

“What did I say?” Matt asks, quietly horrified. There are a lot of dreams he’s been having lately that would be absolutely mortifying for Foggy to hear. They’re all pretty bad, but the worst one would probably be—

 

“Mostly? That you wanted to hear me beg for you, put your fingers on my pulse and hear that beg for you too.” Foggy says serenely.

 

Yup. That would be the worst one.

 

“I didn’t mean…” Actually, he very much did mean, but Foggy’s still not used to Matt’s senses and it must have freaked him out. “I would never ask you to… to do that. I know you don’t want…” He stops, frustrated and upset, because what if Foggy _doesn’t_ want anymore? What if Matt missed his chance? He’s had so many chances.

 

Foggy’s hand, still in Matt’s hair, trails gently down the side of his face, over his shoulder, down his arm, and grasps Matt’s fingers gently. He lifts them slowly and presses the pads of Matt’s fingers against the delicate inside of his wrist.

 

Heartbeat, fast, Matt can _feel_ it. It’s different than just listening, so much _more._ Fast and light and strong.

 

“Matt?” Foggy says quietly, and Matt nods absently, because _heartbeat._ “I want.” He pauses, then laughs a little giddily. “And there are at least six other places you can check my pulse, if you want to be sure.”

 

Heartbeat, Matt thinks again, dazed. Fast and light and strong and _all for Matt._

 

* * *

 

Matt loves listening to Foggy’s heartbeat.

 

He likes to feel it too, because listening’s not quite enough anymore.

 

Matt keeps Foggy’s arms above his head with one of his hands, holds them down and curls his fingers over the pulse point of Foggy’s wrist so he can feel every beat. Foggy lets him, pushes up enough to make it fun, make it interesting, but he never pulls away.

 

“It sounds like a song. _”_ Matt murmurs wonderingly to Foggy when Foggy’s stretched around Matt’s fingers, tight and hot, and Foggy shifts his hips up a little, urging Matt deeper.

 

“ABBA or Ave Maria?” Foggy asks him, sounding both incredibly amused and incredibly fond. Matt grins and kisses him.

 

“ABBA, definitely.” He tells Foggy solemnly when he pulls away. “Lay All Your Love On Me.”

 

“You _dork.”_ Foggy gasps, laughing, and then just gasping when Matt adds another finger, stretching him quick and slick. “I bet you know all the words.” Foggy adds breathlessly.

 

“Don’t go sharing your devotion.” Matt sings softly, entirely out of breath and off-key. Foggy laughs again, bright and happy, so happy. Matt _has_ to kiss him again, just has to.

 

When Matt had been thinking of Foggy like this, more and more often recently, he’d imagined Foggy being soft and sweet and maybe a little quiet. Foggy _is_ soft and sweet, he always is, but he is _not_ quiet.

 

“I’m ready.” Foggy urges him, and Matt shakes his head and adds another finger. “You’re incredibly arrogant, you know. No one needs four fingers.”

 

“Trust me, you really do.” Matt murmurs, and Foggy gives a startled little whine at that, hips canting upwards like he can already feel _why_ he needs four fingers.

 

“Prove it, Murdock.” He pants. “Come on, I’m ready. Please?”

 

Foggy has found out pretty quickly that if he begs, Matt will give him just about anything. This time is no different. Matt flexes his fingers one more time before removing them, shifting Foggy’s legs up to wrap around his waist.

 

“Five, five!” Foggy groans when Matt’s slowly pushing inside. “You should have used five—Jesus, is this one of your superpowers?”

 

“Not that I’m aware of.” Matt murmurs, and then considers. “This might be a good time to talk about your stamina though.”

 

“No.” Foggy tells him breathlessly. “No, a good time to talk about my stamina would have been before I found out I needed _five fingers_.” He pauses, moans when Matt slides a little deeper. Matt’s trying to take it slow, knows he needs to give Foggy time, but it’s hard when Foggy keeps moving his hips like that and _moaning._ “Although, just for the record? It’s off the charts. Marci says—“

 

He stops, giving a startled cry when Matt pushes the rest of the way inside with one sharp thrust.

 

“I’m not Marci.” Matt growls, and Foggy gives a hiccuping little laugh.

 

“Yeah, I _had_ noticed that, thanks.” He tilts his hips meaningfully and clenches just a little, and Matt can’t help but moan, leaning down to kiss Foggy’s forehead.

 

“Good.” Matt whispers, appeased, and then when he lets himself move a little, confident that Foggy’s ready and god, so tight, “ _Good._ God, you feel perfect. Like you were made for me.”

 

“Other way around, Matt. I’m pretty sure you’re the direct result of about a hundred lifetimes’ worth of bad karma.” Foggy teases, and Foggy really should not be coherent at this point, so Matt speeds up his rhythm a little and leans down to nip at Foggy’s ear.

 

Foggy arches and sobs a little after a particularly hard thrust, so Matt moves his hand down again so he can rub soothing circles into Foggy’s thigh, right over the pulse.

 

“There we go.” Matt murmurs, pressing against the same place again. Foggy whines. “Perfect. You’re doing so well.”

 

“Matt…” Foggy whimpers, and Matt hums happily and leans down again.

 

This is more than Matt ever dreamed. Foggy, so hot around him, trembling and taking him inside, moving with Matt so beautifully. Pulse at his fingertips, both thigh and wrist, delicate skin and strong beat. He sucks a bruise just under Foggy’s jaw where his pulse flutters close to the surface. Three pulse points, all at once. _Perfect._

 

“Everyone will see that.” Foggy protests, although he turns his head a little to bare his neck even more. Matt grins against his throat.

 

“Yes.” He agrees smugly. “Yes, they will.” He moves to the other side of Foggy’s neck, bites down just enough that it makes Foggy gasp, then licks the hurt away.

 

“Asshole.” Foggy mutters, but he says it so tenderly that it’s hard to take offense. Matt bites a little harder anyway. “I’m not a chew toy, Matt.”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Matt agrees absently, moving down a little towards the column of Foggy’s throat, where he can feel Foggy swallow when Matt starts kissing it. Foggy groans when Matt finishes his work there and moves down again.

 

“Okay, I get that my heartbeat is a thing for you, but are you seriously going to do that everywhere you hear it? Because with your powers, that will take all night.” Matt leans back just enough to smirk at him. “No.” Foggy says, horrified. “No, Matt.”

 

“You said your stamina was off the charts.” Matt reminds him. He swivels his hips and moves his fingers up from Foggy’s thigh, grinning when Foggy pushes up into Matt’s hand and Matt has to press him back down again. “Let’s make a new chart, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

Matt loves listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when it’s still calming down, Foggy sticky and trembling beside him, dozy and halfway to dreaming.

 

Matt loves listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when Matt presses back inside, and Foggy’s still wet and loose, and he makes a sleepy little sound and pushes back against Matt, taking him in so pretty and sweet.

 

Matt loves listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when Matt licks along his skin, tracing paths between the constellations of bites and bruises that Matt can’t see, but he _knows_ where every one is anyway because he _put_ them there.

 

Matt loves listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when Foggy’s wrung out and whimpering, and Matt’s whispering into his ear that it’s just a little more, just one more time, that’s it, perfect, beautiful, one more time, again, again.

 

Matt loves listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when Matt tells Foggy he loves him.

 

Matt loves listening to Foggy’s heartbeat when Foggy says it back.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should make Foggy try harder to hate the masked man, but I can never do it. He's a smart cookie--if both Karen AND Matt were telling him that there's something more to the story, I think he'd listen. I mean, apparently he WOULDN'T, canon-wise, but in my head he would.
> 
> Also, Matt isn't even in the closet in this, sexually speaking. I have no idea why it takes him so long to figure out he loves Foggy, except that he's so far in the the feelings closet that he's wandered off into Narnia.


End file.
